And then say you take one little thingAnd then you turn it into another thingAnd then you add a few more thingsAnd then something else happens…

You’re doing it right

There’s nothing more than thisIt's just a question of what we can seeAnd what we could see if we could really see

You’re doing it right…

—-

New York Muse — (O’Reilly/Greenberg)

I went down to New YorkLooking for my museMuse was sitting prettyMusin’ front page news.She said, “I’m all besottedWith John Keats and Gertrude Stein.They’ve got me planting flowersPerfuming up my mind.”I said, “I'm something awfulSince you went away,The radiator looks dangerousAnd the radio wont play…”She said, “You’re in a time zoneWhere lovers never meet.You’re all fagged out with jet lag,You’re knocked out on your feet…”He says, “i’ve got a thug inside meHe’s tougher than I thought.He’s all stressed out with contempt,It's got me stretched so taut.”She said, “Start writing down the promisesIn the book you painted green,Refer to them much later,And you’ll find, its quite a scene…But if you’re seeking visions,Start living like a nun,Or accept that you’re a rowdy boyWith all the deeds you’ve done,All the deeds you’ve done…”

I came back from New YorkI’m feeling less aloneI turned a couple of pagesI tried the telephone.And if no one ever answers,It's really no surprise,I’ll let it ring all through the nightUntil I close my eyes…It's then that she will visit meWith all the tricks she knowsShe’ll take me to the cellarWhere her special bottle grows

And together we’ll unpop the corkAnd flood ourselves with homeStart blazing away with righteousnessUntil we stumble home…

—-

Spite — (Test)

With your great hairAnd my great assYou’d think we’d haveA better epitaphThan: ‘they’re dead in the groundAnd there’s no one around'And only the spite remains

A crooked mouth’d stranger came to townWe wined and dined and danced aroundBut he fled to brazilAnd stuck me with the billAnd only the spite remains

Bobby was a bully that pushed me aroundHe’s long gone now and in the groundSo we defiled the deadAnd we all turned and fledAnd only the spite remains.

But it’s far less sexy by farTo cop to who we really are

I had a love that was unrequitedBut when he fought with his wife I was invitedAnd we did it in the hallsAnd left it on the wallsAnd only the spite remains

(eww)

I got myself in a situationA motorist bore no appreciationFor pedestrian rightsLeft cold in the nightAnd only the spite remains

And now all that remainsIs useless phantom painsAnd I have wasted my timeLiving your life and ignoring mineAnd now i have no memoryOf how the hell I used to be

And it’s all the rageTo get all the rage

And with your great hairAnd your great assYou’d think we’d have a better epitaphThan: ‘they’re dead in the groundAnd there’s no one around'And we’re dead in the groundWith the birds all aroundAnd we're dead in the groundAnd there’s blood on the groundAnd we’re dead in the groundAnd no one makes a soundAnd only the spite remains

—-

Robot Lady — (Martin)

Robot Lady, I used to know youNow everyone knows your faceI saw itBefore you knew who you wereNow you know everythingEverything

When the sun was still the sunShining on as shining wasAnd everyone lived seven thousand years

Coursing through the course of timeDragging on as dragging doesUntil the hour of my encodings here

No we didn’t ask to berefashioned but thems the rulesSo can we share our drudgery‘Til I’m a robot lady too

Robot Lady, I used to know youNow everyone knows your faceI saw itBefore you knew who you wereNow you know everythingEverything

—-

Wah Wah — (Walden)

the smell of coffee cracks my brain againa bit before my mind goes gray againbefore I want to run away againand then replay all that you say again

it just goes wah wah wah wah wah

you’re looking like a million bucks againa blushing cheek an aw-ing shucks againI’m run down by the semi trucks againunlucky repeats lightning struck again

it just goes wah wah wah wah wah

ever after things turn overa machete to a four-leaf clover

the darkest feeling on the bloom againI cannot get out of this room againa harpy desperate to consume againthe plume atop a pretty tomb again

I really thought I’d put you down againbut then there comes that certain sound againand even though you’re not around againyou’re aroundagain

she's walkingthrough the dawnslit skirt lets her moveall the gin, it is goneand the rough boys never callthe rough boys never call

muddy when it rainsand dusty when it don'tred dirt roadshe's walking

this manall pouty and drawnthose lips those pockets emptycould that look be the fawnsmall animal she neededsmall animal she needed

muddy when it rainsand dusty when it don'tred dirt roadshe's walking

this manso coarse and tornhis hand held high in the aircould that look beg her not to scornthat man was never therethat man was never there

muddy when it rainsand dusty when it don'tred dirt roadshe's walking

—-

Rosemont — (Magnus)

Push the curtain aside and see the gibbery moonLong days sleep in a cheapish hotel roomDreams of my dead old dad and calling out to himCrying on his shoulder I miss him I miss him I miss him I miss himA sojourn is a sojourn first you go down down downDeep in the heart of what can make it go round round roundFetishize a spinning spindle fondling a plate glass windowA couple a days at the Rosemont does me in…

TV stayed to news about the sun’s hot coreA show explaining how neutron stars revolve forever moreCollapsing into black holes invading my dreams that dayNausea from the spinning sickening my sleep anyway anyway anyway anywayThe lights from the trees are sparkling with their bright bright brightAnd the tears are welling up from writing that spite spite spiteIf only the bitter truth could ring the way a freedom bell might singA couple of days at the Rosemont does me in…

Rosemont, the cheapest deal on OrbitzRosemont, way out by O’HareRosemont, you’ve gotten what you wanted and now you’re there,You’ve made your bed now lie in it…

If I was a drinking man I’d be dead drunk at lastGreenish buildings in the distances are wavering too fast too fastNot sitting at home not caroling around the treeThere’s nothing anyone can say that hasn’t been said already…I’ll wait for the drifting tides to turn turn turnBridges crossed, crossed off, and then they’ve been burned burned burnedOh wise ones when will something move the stonesThat grind the knowing from the knownRosemont will be the death of me…..

—-

I’d Like to Go Out Working (But I Have To Get to Drink in the Morning) — (Martin)

I’d like to go out workingBut I have to get to drink in the morningIt’s a mandatory meeting with Tom and Miranda and GilWe’re steering our committee to Vince’sFor the Ten Cent wings from 11-3And if the 2 for 1 pitchers don’t get us thenThe nice fat fatty in my wallet will

I understand the drive to earn a livingElectricity is nice and heat can make your house a homeBut my commitments are so unforgivingIf I’m not at Lucky’s by 3 pm I’ll miss my calls on the can’s payphone

I’d like to go out workingBut I have to get to drink in the morningI pulled the early shift with Ned and Greta and JillWe convene and Ole McKellan’s pubFor the World Cup match at 10:23And if the dollar domestic drafts don’t get usThen the poppers in my jacket will

(instr. break)

These modern times have made things so efficientOne can perform one’s duties without going anywhereBudgets can be cut across DivisionsWhen a fifth of Old Crow will cost youWhat a couple of shots’d run you at The Bel-Aire

Well I’d love to go out workingBut I have to get to drunk in the morningJust because I stay at home don’t mean that I can laze around at willI’ve gotta wake up in whatever room I’m inAnd make a deposit or threeAnd if the High Life 30 don’t get meThen the acetone I found in the alley will

As I get older I am always overpackingSo worried there might be some kinda situationI just don’t want to face another charming faux pasIf only I can have the proper accoutrement handy for where I’m going

As I get older I am always sick when I travelFor some odd reason motion makes me feel uneasyThere’s nothing for it but to sit and wish for the endIf I could just wake up and already be wherever I was going..

Take me take me take me i’ll go…

As I get older I am always leaving somethingI fool myself by thinking I can keep that back door openBut if I check then I will surely noticeI don’t have the key to where it is I think that I am going…So…

A schadenfreuder from way backShe hated successful storiesThey pissed her off because she knewThat there were limited amounts of gloryAnd if someone else got something goodIt meant she wasn’t going to get the things she shouldStuck with the shit end of the stick againNo doubt

So she would google the tsumaniGoogle the tsunamiTelling herself showing herself convincing herselfShe didn’t have it all that bad…

She spent her 40’s acting fineShe cleaned up messes hers and othersNever late always on timeCould be relied upon to be men’s brothersBut her secret life of schadenfreudeLeft her not so fucking secretly annoyedSuccesses in someone else’s lifeWell they would gut her like a fishing knife

So she would google the tsumaniGoogle the tsunamiTelling herself showing herself convincing herselfShe didn’t have it all that bad

She was drawn to the images of the man standing staring at the waterThey were shot from way up high so you can’t see his faceHe’s just standing there staring at the wave as it’s coming towards himHe doesn’t run away, he just disappears….

La la la…But her secret life of schadenfreudeLeft her not so fucking secretly destroyedSuccesses in someone else’s lifeWell, they would gut her like a fishing knife

So she would google the tsumaniGoogle the tsunamiTelling herself showing herself convincing herself assuring herselfShe didn’t have it all that bad…

—-

Hitting the Wall — (Walden/Magnus)

all the mens, all the mensall the mens are hitting the wallthe cracking it open and spilling of brainsgives them case after case after case of insanesand one day they’ll wake up to all that remainsfrayed ends and the snappings of threadfrayed ends and the snappings of thread

all the womens, all the womensall the womens are hitting the wallbruising themselves just before the bone breaksgiving guff to the body that takes what it takeswatching missteps blossom into mistakesand the grinding of teeth into grainthe grinding of teeth into grain

all the childrens, all the childrensall the childrens are hitting the wallan unconscious testing, a hand out for rainkeepers, ejectors, the boon or the banethe shrieking of pleasure, the liking of painshrug it off as a big escapadea shrugging escapade

all the mens, all the womens,all the childrens are hitting the wall

what it does to headsback up, do againless a sign of crazythan a sign of hitting the walla sign of hitting the wall

—-

Venice — (Diane Izzo)

ever since we met upwe've been infrequently alrightwe could go on this way foreverbut I reckon we're gonna get tiredlike a mule under a manwho's been pushing him so hardour backs are sloping and they're hurtingand our hooves are breaking apart

our tiny little partscold as a frozen tombbut we found the lay of the landand the land was an open woundso daddy croon, daddy croonin your soft and moaning darkwith your sawdust hands a-clappinand your skin like elder barkyou're so delicate, delicately carved

out with the boys from venicein the canal and lagoonwhere we hold ourselves like statuesin a gondola under the moonand we're laughing and we're laughingand we're pulling ourselves apartwith death in our drunken bodiesand venice in our hearts

out with the boys from venicein the canal and lagoonwhere we hold ourselves like statuesin a gondola under the moonand we're laughing and we're laughingand we're pulling ourselves apartwith death in our drunken bodiesand venice in our hearts

out with the boys from venicein the canal and lagoonwhere we hold ourselves like statuesin a gondola under the moonand we're laughing and we're laughingand we're pulling ourselves apartwith death in our drunken bodiesand venice in our hearts

—-

Eugene Chadborne’s Shirt — (O’Reilly/Magnus)

found a phonebook from '92with all the numbers changedhalf-remembered friends were thereamid the coffee stainsone of 'em got a secret dateand one the banjo stringsme I got that Chadbourne shirtit was one of those lucky things

Eugene Chadbourne's shirt

well most times we would work at nightand rare times we would sleepand some slept in the wrong bedand some slept in a heapand maybe we would watch the windand maybe we would beatand maybe we would dance aroundand maybe we would tiptoe

Eugene Chadbourne's shirt

the decisions that we madewere sometimes clean and neatwho got to keep the funny bookswho had to clean the sheetsbut me, I got that Chadbourne shirthis roach clip went to otherscuz Chadbourne slept once in my beddreamt anarchy under the covers

well most of us are gone nowwe learned to bank the heatand put it in some useful placestop parading on the streetbut me I got that Chadbourne shirtand I wear it like a snakeand when my brain goes comfortableI don't give myself a break

You wanted us…We’re hereYou’re one of us…We’re hereYou’re one with us…Hear, HearAnd one of us. Will never go. Home.

Plaintive recoveriesThe fields and the drawsTrees moved awayAll beset by the saw

Follow the detourOr follow the stonePointed directionsCuts down to the boneTrusting in all you can singDon’t look at everything

You wanted us…We’re hereYou’re one of us…We’re hereYou’re one with us…Hear, HearAnd one of us. Will never go. Home.

—-

Superhero Man — (Magnus)for Beau O’Reilly and Stefan Brun

Keeps his attention strung and tightSits up straight and sees the bursting bolt of lightFeels the dangers coming nearGets himself to where there’s nothing left to fear

He stands his groundHis ground is fineHe makes a moveHe tries…

He can save himselfHe is the only oneHe’ll find a wayTo win….

Always on the missionSuperhero ManMake the world aliveAs best as he can

Has the power to prevailWhen the situation presses him to failHis instinctive way to flyIs to never question how he can or why

He scans the worldHis world makes senseHe proves it goodHe tries…

He can save himselfHe is the only oneHe’ll find a wayTo win….

Always on the missionSuperhero ManMake the world alive asBest as he can

Fights the good fight every wakingGives himself a thorough shakingTells himself he’ll surely not be beatReaching for his belt of wondersBuckling his all asundersGearing up to take the bitter heatAsks himself to find a reasonChallenging the change of seasonsTaking off his glasses for a while

The only crime he cannot routIs the passing of the time….

Holding firmly to the endThere is no villain that can make him bendAll naysayers take a passThey can kiss his ample superhero ass

He knows his placeHis place is hisHe makes some roomHe tries….

He can save himselfHe is the only oneHe’ll find a wayTo win….

Always on the missionSuperhero ManMake the words alive asBest as he can

—

Food Chain Scuttle Stomp — (Martin)

It must-a been about-a three o’clock in the afternoonCuz nobody was here, but they gonna be here soonNobody ever shows up early want to get a little bitBuzzed before they come

All the beetles in the dung will come when the antelope runThe cattle quit their lowing when they wanna get high,Stumble down a tunnel shoot, gut, flash fry5 hours to boil their tongues

And the humans hold their forks up proudSpitting this pretty little ditty out loud:“If you’re gonna build a fire, better have some meat on hand”

And the tigers and the sharks and bearsWonder what a little bit’ll be-a left to spareWhen the top hits the bottomChordata needs a better B-plan

(break)

All bellies to the Big BuffetFor the spattering of the masticating hunt/kill/sprayWith the bigger on the littler a duty, not a thing to fear

Bacteria in the bathroom sayWe’re the scuttle in the puddle and we’re here to stayWe’re the first and last and good for another four-billion years

It must-a been about-a three o’clock in the afternoonCuz nobody was here, but they were gonna be here soonNobody ever shows up early want to get a little bitBuzzed before theybuzzed before theybuzzed before they come

—-

Art History — (Magnus)

You don’t remind me of a GiacomettiYou remind me of BoteroAnd maybe the Venus of Willendorf

You remind me of a RubensYou remind me of Lucien FreudAnd a bit like Manet’s Olympia

Shirts don’t fit you like you think they shouldAnd sweaters don’t fit you like you’d hoped they wouldAnd buttons don’t button like you thought they couldSo how can you be portrayed?

Ghost cat is goneI said it for 83 yearsI was right all alongStill every day she’d appear

Fields are left fallowChildren are guarded in their playPoor Pomeranians toted in bags where they goFrom stories of tracks in the snowBut how can you tell ‘less you’re toldThat ghost cat is goneHooray

The woods fill with hammersDitch truck to drive the rains awayTraffic lights guide us, saying ‘all’s well it’s your turn’Move ahead without further concernNewsman just said he’s just learnedThat ghost cat is goneHooray

Ghost cat is gone

—-

Yes Face — (Magnus)

He flips out lookingTurns everything inside outDriven mad like a Bolshevik radicalWild eyes whimperingThings are lost

She slips in not lookingTurns everything off insideDriven mad like a once free radicalSad eyes whimperingThings are lost

They make the do you want to live faceThey make the yes face…

Things are lost, manA panoply of thingsBut still, the looking,The looking, the looking….

So they disdain checkingInside the locked out roomDriven made like burnt out radicalsMany eyes whisperingThings are lost